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Not the brightest of subjects - The tissue of the Tears of Zorro [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
tearsofzorro

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Not the brightest of subjects [Oct. 13th, 2015|12:08 am]
tearsofzorro
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[music |Communion After Dark - 7/13/2015 ]

Things are all a-go on my end. I have an interview for my employer's client tomorrow. It has a very different feel. It's not an interview for myself, so I'm not nervous, but I feel I have to do better exactly because it's not for myself, so it feels like there's more weight to it. So, the pressure's on, but in a very weird way.

It doesn't help that I picked up, and started reading, "Flowers for Algernon" yesterday. I got it mostly because it was the plot point in an episode of Person of Interest. As a story, it's compelling. But it's tough going.

From what I've read so far, it's about a man of sub-average IQ and his journey though an experimental treatment that is meant to raise it. Surprisingly, it cuts deep.

So... turns out I'd conveniently forgotten a good extent of my bullying when I was younger.

In primary school, everyone called me "slow". I was slow physically, and in speech. I also wasn't that great at non-academic stuff. I just didn't get half the stuff going on around me. It's only as I got older that I feel some form of proper comprehension kicked in. Sure, I had a big vocabulary for my age, and I could impress adults, but I wasn't good at understanding what the other kids were about. It wasn't until I was about 10 that I started understanding a lot of this, and training myself to understand what was socially acceptable and what wasn't. By then, I already had the reputation of "slow"; even my friends called me that.

In the book, I read Charlie's accounts of realising that he's the butt of so many jokes, of being pulled into unpleasant situations, and it brought me right back to my own experiences; I understood that the friendly overtures weren't friendly, but that they were simply signals of a joke I wasn't in on. The invitations were trapping me in a social contract I could not afford to break, and so I simply had to go along; I knew it led to trouble for me, but I didn't know how to short-circuit the situation and get out of it.

Once upon a time, in a writing workshop, we were asked to recall our earliest memories. Others recounted warmth, safety, belonging, or tales from when they were toddlers, and I could only remember a sense of confusion and a jumble of everything. Needless to say, that was not what the workshop leader was quite looking for.

Everything I said caused laughter. At me, not with me. I learned that I would be used for what I had (good computer games), and thrown away. I learned that what I said would be used against me.

I learned to watch my mouth. By secondary school, I was cautious around people. I kept my mouth shut. I didn't show what I knew or what I could do. However, I felt that all the class could smell what I reeked of in my last school. It kinda showed too; I was friends with the outcasts, the ones who had nobody but the other outcasts.

It wasn't until I was about 16, when I realised that I was trans and had nothing to lose that I really came out of my shell, and hung around with more interesting outcasts.

So yeah, the book blindsided me, and I kinda needed to just write about it. I had forgotten so much of that, and I know I'm facing so much more as I read it. I should probably stay away from it for the next couple of days, given the upcoming interviews.
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